


Anniversary, Overseas

by missbeizy



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Breast Fucking, Double Anal Penetration, F/M, Face-Sitting, Hand Jobs, M/M, Poly!verse, Polyamory, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 05:34:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4423355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbeizy/pseuds/missbeizy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris/Mia leading into foursome stuff.  Includes: tit fucking, face sitting, and some partial double-penetration.  Smut with some smut on top.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anniversary, Overseas

If only he could get the damned leotard to sit right.

The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles costumes were Darren's idea—“Dude, there's four of us, we're not at home, no one's gonna recognize us, we gotta do it, come on”—and though Chris isn't typically a costume repeater, he has to admit that the suggestion was good. They've never been in a position to openly do a foursome costume before, and being incognito in Germany is a great excuse to attempt it.

“Donatello,” Darren said.

“Raphael forever, duh.  Sarcasm and sai swords,” Chris said.

“Michelangelo, I guess?” Will said.

“Leonardo,” Mia said. “I totally run this show.”

They couldn't argue with that.

But removed from his usual costume and craft sources, Chris has trouble finding things that fit.  He ends up buying a leotard he thinks is actually more of bathing suit meant for a woman, and it's irritating to work with.  Darren, Mia, and Will opted for less complicated undergarments.  Darren and Will have been grazing on breakfast out on the patio all morning and Mia has been unpacking, striding back and forth across their rental in her underwear with a phone tucked against her ear.

After her twelfth or so lap through the wide open space of the studio-like main room, Chris's eyes glued to her curvy shape, he gives up and flails his hands in a universal “help” gesture.

She ends her call and comes to his rescue. “'S'up, babe?”

“This thing won't  _fit over my junk_ , ugh,” he says.

“Let me.  I've squeezed Darren into worse.”

Chris blinks as she goes to her knees in front of him, all glorious, bouncing boobs and long, wild hair.  His face goes hot. “Really.”

He isn't sure what being in Europe does to him, to them all, but everything here feels freer and stranger and somehow better, and he has to admit he's been—ogling her all morning.  He kind of sort of has this weirdly specific  _thing_  for her boobs.  He always has.  The breakfast he had was more mimosa than food, and he suspects that may have something to do with his current fixation—this morning, at least.

“Yeah, it's no big.  It's all about how you tuck and fold.” She doesn't hesitate to cup his cock and balls and work them under the stripe of soft fabric.  

This is nothing between them—he rarely reacts to her touch when they're alone, and there's no call to be polite about groping. Except his eyes keep catching on the quivering swell of her breasts peaking over the edge of the lacy blue bra she's wearing.

It's so pretty.  Her boobs are so fucking  _pretty_.

“See, that's better.  Flatter, at least.” She looks up at him from underneath her eyelashes and his dick twitches against her fingers.

“Oh, yeah.  Yeah, thanks.”

He is about six seconds away from embarrassing himself, and he tries to shift his hips so that she won't notice.  His entire body is on display beneath the tight leotard; it's so tight, in fact, that when his throbbing cock tries to fill it actually hurts.  

Fuck, did she have to  _kneel_? He can see right down her bra, see everything, from the proud jut of them to her soft, slender torso and her round hips—she's tiny but thick, her breasts a crowning achievement, augmented by the brown blush of two perfect nipples.  He can't stop staring.

“Oh my god,” she whispers.  She bites her lip, her eyes lighting up. “I gave you a hard-on.”

“No you didn't,” he blurts.

“I did!”

“No! No you didn't.”

She moves her hand over to cup his hip, as if suddenly aware that her touch has become something more than platonic and she isn't sure of its welcome.

“Honey,” she says. “It's okay.”

He pauses.  Weighs his options. “It's just—god, your  _boobs_.” She laughs.  He makes a boob-juggling gesture. “They're so awesome. Ugh.  Don't tell Darren?  Please?  He will never stop if he knows.”

Her laugh turns into a giggle briefly, and then a snort, before she clears her throat, licks over her mouth, and then bites her bottom lip in. “Mm.  Thank you.  Although I have to say, I'm pretty sure Darren already knows.  He's very attentive to my tits, and if you are, too, then he's noticed.”

“This is dumb, I'm sorry.” He shifts his weight from one leg to the other.  He is the definition of awkward. “Like, leading you on?  I keep saying I am nine hundred percent gay and then I stare at your tits or get drunk and let you blow me and it's like—”

She sits up on her knees, putting both of her hands on his hips.  Like that, her boobs press together and surge higher, and his cock aches with interest. “Intimacy is complicated, man.  Give yourself a break.”

He'd like that.  And it feels possible to do that here, so far from home and under the radar—he always seems to be able to hide in Germany. Certain parts of it, anyway.

“So.” She drags her nails up and down his sides, just along the borders of his ribs, and his pulse quickens. “Whatcha thinking about?”

Heat spills through his body like ink through water, haphazard and unexpected, its whirls and blobs staining his insides.  He wants to reach down and squeeze her tits and press his stubble-covered cheek against them and  _rub_  on them, feeling the soft pillow-like flesh give and then support him.  He wants to lie on top of her and feel them move and drag the tip of his cock around her nipples and—

“Um.” He blinks, because his eyes are drying out from gawking without blinking.

She draws her thumb along the underside of his cock, which juts awkwardly up and to the side beneath the leotard as it stiffens.  He feels weird every time they do something like this, and he is not nearly drunk or stoned enough for it to feel normal, no matter how many times he tells himself that its the love and closeness between them that makes him sometimes want to be with her, not that he necessarily and suddenly wants to have sex with a woman.

It's not that simple.  She's not  _just a woman_. She isn't the sum of her gendered parts, physical or otherwise, she's just—Mia.  She's no more an object in this way than Will or Darren are “just” men.  Still, he struggles.  With wanting it with her, sometimes and in some ways, with not being able to find the words to tell her that there is a line there for him, that there are things he has no desire to do to or with her, without insulting her or upsetting her or throwing off the balance of their relationship.

Then again, he has no idea why he worries so much, because she knows how to make him feel safe and taken care of.  She's flawlessly in control, almost all of the time, and maybe that's why this works.

She kneels on the ottoman beside them, dragging her body up the front of his thighs and hips, letting her breasts crush a trail up and over his cock, her fingers sliding ahead of them to tease his chest and nipples.  She kisses between his heaving ribs and bites into the cloth over his sternum, closing her fingertips around his nipples and pinching them.

He makes a noise, and then inhales shakily, his hands flopping uselessly at his sides. “S-shit.”

“God, you're so fucking  _hot_  in this,” she whispers, nipping at his collarbone.  His neck is instant reaction territory and she knows this—they  _all_  know this—and when she licks up the side of his neck to suck a kiss below his ear, he whimpers and thrusts forward, grabbing her shoulder.

It's not often that he does this with her sober and full-on, with foreplay and deliberation, and oh, god, he wants to  _come_. The urge is ticklish, tingles drawing figure eights up his spine, twinging at the back of his neck like an itch when they reach it.

He does the only thing he knows to do—sinks his hands into her hair and kisses her, sloppy and with too much tongue, until she slows him down, turns his jaw up and calms his tongue and pushes back against him, asserting herself.  She kisses so differently than Darren or Will, with no less force but with a precision that he never thought was necessary, much less enjoyable, before he met her.

“Fuck,” she hisses.  She grabs his lower back and pushes her thigh up against his dick. “Fuck, you're not kidding, are you?”

He slips his tongue into her mouth and holds onto her, whining in the back of his throat.  Her realization of his need makes everything a hundred times more urgent.  He feels the unspooling of his hesitance prickling deep inside, desire separating itself from censor.

“Gonna lie down.” She leads them backwards, step by step. “Lie down and take this off and let you fuck my tits.” She breathes faster, heavier, stumbling only once before landing on the bed and plucking the clasp between her shoulder blades open.  He stares down at her, wide-eyed and wanting.

“Oh my god—”

“Want that?” She scoots up the bed, her soft, curvy body tapering attractively into a shock of dark hair framing her angled face.  He's so hard that he thinks he might bust right through the stupid garment he's wearing. “Want to fuck them and come all over them?”

“Fuck,  _fuck_.” He kneels over her, kisses her neck and collarbone and shoulder wildly, aimlessly, embarrassed and eager and lost in the acknowledgment of a previously unspoken desire.  He's wanted this for at least two years now, but their inebriated interactions have never traveled in this direction.

She tugs the tight, soft fabric of the leotard off of his torso and hips. He kneels out of it, fumbling, almost squashing her in his haste to get back to her, and then her hands are on the back of his knees and he's inching forward, and she's dragging his big, clumsy hands to her breasts, and—

“Oh my god they're so soft,” he whispers, holding them.

“I won't break.  Come on.”

He squeezes, pressing the springy flesh between his fingers.  Arousal that is already inhabiting every inch of him blossoms, becoming overwhelming in a short span of time.  He shakes, flushed down to chest and breathing heavily.  Her hands cover his, show him how hard he can touch, arrange his fingers around the pebbled push of her nipples, teaching him how to squeeze and tug them.

“Oh, god, oh my god,” he chants.  His dick is so hard that it's bobbing in mid-air, perfectly parallel to her torso and welling cloudy at the tip. “Can I...?”

She shoves a few pillows under her shoulders. “Yeah.  Let me touch you first?”

He makes a strangled, affirmative noise, which twists into a moan when her fist wraps around him and begins jacking him up and down.  It's not surprise or hesitance—he's only shocked to realize how far gone he already is.  He worries for a moment that he's going to pop right in her hand.

“Don't, I'm,” he pants, unable to stop fucking the channel of her fist.

“That's okay,” she says. “You're going to want to be.  These babies are too soft when you're between them.” He moans.  She smiles, and angles his cock down, tracing her right nipple with the engorged head. “That feel good?”

“Yeah. Oh, yeah.” He leaves streaks of clear pre-come all over her tits, not sure when his hand replaced hers but he's doing it himself now, rubbing the shaft along and around the dome of her breasts, under and over, grazing her collarbone, and then back in between, her breathing forcing her torso up beneath him, teasing him with the possibility of her breasts closing around him.  The way her hard nipples feel against the slit at the tip of his cock is indescribable—he dribbles little drops of pre-come all around them, making the brown shine in his wake.  Her whole body is alive on the bed—she's touching herself.  He kneels higher over her chest, overwhelmed with the need to come.  She strokes his cock from root to tip, and then lets it settle in between her breasts.

“Mm, yeah, honey.  You wanna come?”

“Fuck. Yeah.”

She presses her tits together around the shaft of his cock, smiling, wicked and sweet at the same time, her eyes teasing him. “You're gonna have to do some of the work, here, if I'm gonna stay tight for you.”

“Oh, god, yeah, just—” He puts one hand on the headboard of the bed and steadies himself against her shoulder with the other.  The silken heat of her breasts feels amazing, but he understands now why she jerked him off first—he's not sure if he could come  _only_  from this friction.  But with prior stimulation he's right there, tingling and driven on by the sight of his big, long cock splitting her breasts apart, poking out of the top of her exaggerated cleavage, so thick and masculine against her small body.

“But you can't,” he says, staring down at her hands, “while I'm—want you to feel good, too.”

“Sweet but not necessary,” she says. “Fuck my tits, come on, baby.”

It's too late in the game for him to tack on further protest.  A part of him enjoys that—being the center of her attention, not having to think about doing anything to gratify her beyond jacking his hips back and forth, beyond driving his cock between her tits and leaving her skin sticky and friction-red.

She reacts to his impending orgasm with startlingly accurate comprehension; before he can choke out a warning she's sitting up and pumping his dick in her hand, the head lodged somewhere along the crest of her breasts when he comes with a groan.  He unloads all over her chest, streaking up to her collarbone and down in between her breasts, thick, lazy spurts that take something vital from him.

He stares at the shining mess, enthralled, and it's only when she's rising on her knees to kiss him that he realizes Will and Darren are watching them from the other side of the bed.

“Hello,” Darren says, to the tune of  _how you doin'_.

Will just  _blinks_.

Breathing unevenly, Chris jabs a finger at Darren. “Not a word.”

“Zero words.  The absence of words.  What are words?” Darren creeps across the bed, his boxers tented obscenely.  He shuffles up behind Mia, palming her waist and kissing her jaw.

Will kisses Chris's bare, warm shoulder. “Baby?”

“Fuck me,” Mia says, soft and sure into Darren's curls. “Need you to fuck me.”

Chris watches, unable to look away, as Darren pushes his boxers down to catch the underside of his balls, tugs her panties off, and just—kneels there between her legs and eases his dick inside of her, waiting for confirmation of whatever level of arousal she requires for that to happen comfortably.  Chris is surprised by the raw desire on her face, by the instant switch from tense to satisfied when Darren begins fucking in and out of her.  She leans forward on one hand, her lips parting and her head falling back.

“Good boy,” she croons, spreading her knees apart on the bed. “Good boy, come on.  Harder.”

Chris's cock throbs once, twice, before Will's hand finds it. “Hngh,” he moans.

“Clean me up.” It takes Chris a moment to realize Mia is talking to him. He looks around for something to wipe her off with, willing to sacrifice a costume part or shirt or spare sock if he has to, when she roughly purrs, “No.  Lick your mess off of my tits.”

_Fuck._

Shaking, and with one eye on Darren kneeling behind her, fucking her so fast and hard that her body and the bed are rocking, he bends and licks a stripe of congealed, cold come from her right breast.  It's his own, but it's a little disgusting—and still, it excites him, chasing dot after streak of it all over her swaying, soft, warm tits, the bitter salt-tang of it spreading across his tongue and down his throat.  His dick is hard again from doing it, from powering through it even as a part of him finds it revolting.  He secretly adores obeying the command beyond the borders of his comfort zone.

When it's done, his face is a mess and Darren has a hand between Mia's legs, strumming her clit in smart, shallow circles.  Her chest is heaving and flushed, as is her face, and she's completely lost in her own world as her orgasm looms.  Will leans around Chris to kiss the corner of her mouth, and then replaces Darren's hand with his own.

“Gonna come?” Will asks her in a whisper.  He strokes her hair back and away from her face, tucking it down along her back while sneaking in a playful tug or two.

“Fuck, yes,” she moans, her voice a rasp.  She fucks herself back onto Darren's cock, letting his hands curl over the curves of her jiggling ass.  She grabs Chris's arm and tugs him into their little circle, pushes her face against his hair and his cheek against her collarbone as her body takes it.

She's shaking and giving off heat like a furnace.  Caught in a tangle of limbs and skin, Chris drowns pleasantly, happy to disappear into it, to be a part of it, to feel included, Will's hand on his back a lifeline, a vitally important connection that keeps him present and accounted for.

She makes a noise, urgent and broken, and Chris feels the squirmy coiling in her body, holds his breath for no reason at all, listening to the moist slap and suck of Darren's dick fucking her open, watching her spit-and-come smeared tits jiggle.  She comes in a staggered series of waves, her body bucking and trembling against his and Will's.

Damp and noisy breathing and skin and sex smell, and Darren panting and cursing and driving into her, focused and precise and determined. Will rubs her clit and soaked lips, drawing her orgasm out as Darren seeks his own.

“Fuck,” Darren hisses, grabbing her hair and pulling.  Her head goes back—she's grinning, gasping, and then Darren scrabbles one hand down her spine, leaving marks in his wake. “ _Fuck_.” He comes, hammering into her, and Chris is perfectly positioned to watch when he pulls out and a slick dribble of come leaks out of her to puddle on the bed.

“God,” Chris whimpers, turning into Will's shoulder.  

Will kisses his cheek. “Okay?”

Mia sprawls out on her side, petting Darren's curls. “Mm.”

“So hot with her,” Will whispers, stroking between Chris's legs, tugging on his half-hard cock and balls.

“D-did you see...?”

“Yeah. Shit, babe, the way you looked on top of her, fucking between her tits...”

Chris rolls over on top of Will, trembling hands and sure thighs and his dick standing up in between.  There's an almost empty bottle of lubricant tangled in the sheets and he grabs it, unsticking the top with his teeth.  He upturns the bottle, coating Will's cock, then gathers the excess and reaches behind him.

He jolts when Darren's hand palms his ass, then slaps it lightly. “Let me.”

“Fuck.” Darren's manual and oral skills never fail to shine, and Chris is happy to let him do this, spreading his legs and humming with approval as Darren twists two slick fingers down the crack of his ass and then into his body. “Fuck, yeah, just like that.” He's so loose from coming and the ramp up of hours of staring at Mia that it feels like nothing until Darren adds a third finger, kissing his shoulder and his neck and easing up behind him, all smooth muscle and confidence in every turn of his wrist.

“Fucking amazing ass,” Darren murmurs, jacking his hand faster, harder. More lubricant, but Darren deposits this handful along Will's tacky cock before guiding it up against Chris's hole. “Yeah, shit, get it in there.  Fuck him.  Fuck, fuck, so hot.”

Will's broad hands hook around Chris's hips and tug.  Chris falls eagerly, wincing at the burn as he sits down, impaling himself on Will's cock. It's too much, and then not enough when he stops moving and so he rises and falls, his head tipping back against Darren's shoulder. Darren strokes him from behind, his chest and nipples and belly and cock, pulling at that last when Chris's body curls to meet his fist.

Chris is too busy bouncing on Will's cock to notice exactly when Mia kneels over Will's face, but he opens his eyes at one point to find her riding Will's tongue, her fingers combed through his hair, his mouth wide open over her hole and then pursed once it coasts up to her clit, sucking and sucking and sucking.  He detaches one hand from Chris to grip Mia's ass and then to tickle her slit, working two fingertips in a fluttery stab against  _that spot_. Chris isn't surprised when she starts gasping and grunting, when her cunt contracts and little gushes of fluid spurt all over Will's chest.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” Chris pants, fucking himself on Will's cock with sharp back to front rolls that get that cock right where Chris needs it.

Will's thick fingers push up into Mia's pussy and then pull back out, fighting the resistance of sucking, hungry clamps, which only results in more mess, and then she goes back to fucking herself against Will's mouth.  He squeezes her ass—god, she has a  _great_ ass—and drags his slick fingers down her crack, teasing her clenched pucker enough to make it flutter and wink and  _oh, fuck, that is incredible_. Chris hears the muffled moans from Will's mouth dying against her skin, and before he can trace the sensation he's coming in Darren's hand, dry but still intense, his ass clenching up around Will's dick.

“Fuck, yeah,” Darren hisses, working him through the aftershocks.

He inhales, and then exhales, and Mia is twisting around, grabbing him by the back of his neck and kissing him, her tongue spearing into his mouth.  It's so deliciously, monumentally dirty—he lets her in and sucks her tongue like a dick, moaning around it.  She's shaking, and the angle is awkward, and a moment later she lets him go with a satisfied groan.

“Holy fucking shit.” She collapses sideways onto the bed again.  Her thighs and pussy are glistening and trembling, and Chris can see the beard-burn from Will's face in blotchy patches all over her labia.

Able to focus on Chris again, Will begins rolling his hips up.  

Chris holds on to his belly and rocks down to meet him. “God, fuck me.  Fuck me, fuck me, come on.”

He gasps when Will falls out suddenly—and Darren pushes into him from behind, filling that wanton, aching gap with a different shape and girth.

“Oh, god,” Chris whimpers, falling forward.  Will grabs his hips to steady him as Darren pounds his ass, merciless and single-minded. Chris didn't even notice he was hard again.

Darren and Will take turns fucking him until he's so loose that he almost manages to take them both at once, the first few inches of their dicks combined with a generous reapplication of lubricant making it possible.  He trembles there on his knees between them, feeling sweetly used and utterly perfect, his ass stretched wide open, needing it so badly after earning a different kind of satisfaction with Mia earlier.

She watches them, lazily rubbing her fingers over her clit and swollen lips and winking pink hole, and for once Chris doesn't mind the sight at all.  He lets his head fall back and his ass and thighs settle under their command and takes it, takes both cocks like a good, easy boy, their boy, and feels so fucking alive—either in spite of or more likely  _because_ of the faint notes of discomfort.

Will gets there much sooner than Darren, having not come yet, and Chris twitches suddenly when Will comes inside of him, making him even wetter than he already is, biting his lip and whimpering.

“Y-yeah.” Chris writhes, rolling his pelvis back into the mess, tipping the thick round of his ass up into Darren's palms. “Come in me, too. Come, Darren.”

Darren's fingernails bite into his sides.  It takes a few more minutes to get past the second-orgasm sloth but Darren manages it, high-pitched whines breaking over Chris's shoulder and the back of his neck.  It's leaking out of Chris's ass before Darren even pulls out, it's that much.  His ass tries to close up and fails and he just looms there over Will, panting, satiated.

They somehow form a perfect line of bodies when Chris slumps over, Will on one side of him and Mia and Darren on the other, an even procession of rapidly rising and falling chests and sweaty, messy skin.

Chris breathes out a laugh and closes his eyes, feeling hands all over him, not knowing which belongs to who and not caring at all.

“Happy anniversary, you guys,” he says.


End file.
